


Embarkation

by R_R_Fox



Series: The Master and The Padawan [3]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 21:22:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19934701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_R_Fox/pseuds/R_R_Fox
Summary: Yoda is trying to get Qui-Gon to take a new Padawan.  Qui-Gon takes on a mission for a peculiar prince.  He does not go alone.





	Embarkation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My mother](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+mother).



_  
And so it happened, after [the Sith Wars], when many [Jedi] were slain, many younglings were without Masters. So some of the greater among the Masters had begun to take more than one youngling as a Padawan, saying in such way, no youngling would be without suitable training._

_But one Master, Master Aitas, who was one of the greatest among them, both in prowess, and in wisdom, would not take more than one Padawan. [Instead] he kept the old ways, and would have only one. The other Masters muttered against him, so much so that the [Head of the Council] fearing division, questioned him before all the others._

_“Are there no younglings worthy to be a Padawan?” Master Panêgemô asked._

_“Many among them, are thus,” Master Aitas replied._

_“Certainly you cannot find it so,” she answered, rebuking [him], ‘for many Masters have taken more than one Padawan, yet you train only one.”_

_Master Aitas pulled out his lightsaber and laid it at her feet._

_“Why do you do thus?” Master Panêgemô asked, for she did not understand his intention._

_He answered, “Perhaps these other Masters have learned how to divide what cannot be divided, so I give this to you, so that you may divide my [soul] as best you see fit. After I have been rent in two, in [soul] and heart and mind, certainly, then, I will be able to take another Padawan. Otherwise, it is impossible. For how may a Master have more than one Padawan? For do we have more than one [soul]?”_

_And Master Panêgemô had no answer to this, but instead she rose from her chair and bowed to him, in the manner of a youngling being instructed, for he had spoken wisely; indeed, no Master [now] raised their voice against him._

_So by his example the Jedi were turned back to as it had been in the beginning, for after the time [of Master Aitas], there was no more discussion of a Master having many Padawans. For it was now said, each Master must be utterly bound to each Padawan, and Padawan to Master, in [soul], heart, and mind, allowing no others…_

Jedi Master La’ak Meilinx, Commentaries on the First Histories

Qui-Gon spotted Tarquinus Caesi the moment he entered the cantina. Even though the cantina was very crowded, Tark was easy to find, for the Mirmodians were of distinctive, even striking appearance. Tark was no exception; exaggeratedly tall and almost excessively thin, he had the prominent features, glittering metallic eyes, and the variegated hair of his near-Human race. Standing at least a head taller than most of the other patrons, Tark’s gold eyes shone in the theatrical light of the cantina, and his shoulder length black hair gleamed with streaks of glistening white.

At the moment, as usual, Tark was listening avidly to one of the other patrons, for Tark was a typical example of his friendly race. Qui-Gon, watching for a moment, saw Tark sympathetically pat a glum Sauran male on the arm.

“I am sure that you can eventually obtain enough credits for her bride price,” Qui-Gon overheard Tark console the Sauran, over the music in the cantina, “And didn’t she want you to meet her on Zuros during the mating season?”

Qui-Gon smiled.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked Qui-Gon, suddenly coming up beside him, and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Qui!” exclaimed Tark, smiling broadly. “I almost didn’t recognize you!” As Tark clasped Qui-Gon’s hand, he gave his friend a careful once-over. “Your _hair_. It is… _long_. But I like it. It suits you.”

“Thank you. But you may be alone in your opinion.”

“What? It isn’t to Master Dooku’s taste?” There was a sparkle in Tark’s strange Mirmidonian gold eyes.

“ _No.”_

“An added benefit.” The two friends looked at each other, and laughed, easily. It has been over two years since they had seen each other, but they immediately fell back into a comfortable closeness.

The Sauran, watching the exchange, said slowly, in awkward Basic, “Excuse me…are you not…Master Qui-Gon Jinn?”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon admitted, reluctantly.

“This is _wonderful_!” exclaimed the Sauran. “I have seen much about you on the HoloNet!”

“Too much,” Qui-Gon muttered.

“Such an honor!” the Sauran gushed.

“Oh, sorry!” put in Tark, “Urquo, please meet one of my oldest friends, Qui-Gon Jinn, Qui-Gon, this is Urquo Cheroo.”

“Would you care to join us for a drink, Urquo?” Qui-Gon asked, politely.

“I would be much honored…but too much to drink I have had,” the Sauran belched, as if to emphasize his words, “And _unworthy_ I am, to interrupt a discussion among two such great Jedi. I must go now and sleep, dream of my dear Warati…” he added, with a smile directed at Tark, “and our meeting on _Zuros_ , perhaps?” He bowed deeply to Qui-Gon, repeating, “Such and honor, such an honor it truly is, Master Qui-Gon,” before stumbling off.

“You’re famous.” Tark commented, smiling.

“ _Don’t_ remind me. How about a drink?” Qui-Gon gestured to the bartender, as he sat down. “Corellian spiced ale is still your drink, isn’t it?”

Tark nodded. “Yes,” he grimaced. “And I _really_ need one after that meeting with Za’kalles.”

“That bad?”

“It made me long for the Outer Rim,” Tark deadpanned, only half-kidding.

“Now you know why I wanted to meet in a place where they serve alcohol.” When Tark made to pull some credits from his belt Qui-Gon shook his head, pushing his own credits to the bartender. He then handed his friend his drink of purplish, fizzing ale. “It is the very least I can do. I doubt they had any good Corellian spiced ale on Nyyx.”

“They didn’t have much of _anything_ on Nyyx,” Tark corrected, humorously, “Well, other than ice, rocks—and petty squabbles.”

“Here is to getting off Nyyx,” toasted Qui-Gon, clinking his friend’s glass.

“And to being together again,” added Tark.

After the two of them had a moment to take an appreciative sip of their ale, Qui-Gon said, “No one envied you the assignment, but you did a good job of it, so congratulations are also in order.”

“Thank you,” replied Tark, with a smile, and a gracious dip of his head. He then added, mischievously, “I also think _you_ did an excellent job on Kakuno, despite… _complications_.”

“I wouldn’t repeat that in front of the Jedi Council,” Qui-Gon said, dryly, taking another sip of his drink. “My _performance_ on my last mission is why we are being sent on this boring assignment. Correction. Boring _and_ political. My _personal_ favorites.”

“At least it seems like very little can go horribly wrong. Prince Satra apparently wants to smooth over all the problems that his brother got his people into. I met Prince Satra once, a couple of years ago, at some dry Senate thing. Very conciliatory. _And_ political,” Tark added, with a smile, echoing Qui-Gon’s words.

“In Za’kalles estimation, the more boring, the better, for she wants to keep me on a very short leash,” remarked Qui-Gon. He took another long swallow of his drink.

“You have _that_ right,” agreed Tark, with a grimace. “She kept me standing in front of her for almost an hour, lecturing me on the ‘proper behavior for a Jedi.’”

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” Qui-Gon replied wryly, “She wasn’t talking about _your_ behavior, but _mine_. I strongly suspect that the reason she is sending you is she hopes a friend might keep me more in line.”

“I agree. Before she terminated the interview she impressed upon me that I should contact the Jedi Council if there were any ‘irregularities.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell her that if I contacted her with every one of _your_ irregularities, I would be sending so many reports, I wouldn’t have time for anything else.”

At that, they both laughed together for a moment. Tark took another long swallow from his drink, before going on. “Delicious. You wouldn’t believe what they drink on Nyyx.”

“I can only imagine.”

Tark, suddenly struck by at thought, changed the subject, “And I must have been too long out in the Outer Rim. Since _when_ are we assigned younglings to bring along with us on missions for training?”

“You _too_?” Qui-Gon asked, raising his eyebrows at his friend, in genuine surprise.

“So this isn’t some new Jedi policy?”

“ _No_. But I was also ordered to bring along a youngling ‘only for training purposes.’” Qui-Gon did such a perfect imitation of Za’kalles severe intonation that Tark laughed again, outright, almost choking on his drink.

“ _Sorry_ ,” Qui-Gon grimaced, giving his friend a pat on the back.

“My own fault,” Tark coughed, his face faintly purple, “I forgot how you do that. But if it’s not a new policy, then what is it about?”

“ _Master Yoda’s machinations_!” Qui-Gon swore. Tark had been about to take another sip of his ale, but wisely held the glass from his lips as he chortled another laugh.

Qui-Gon added grumpily, “I think—no, let me take that back—I _know_ , that Master Yoda is attempting to make me take a Padawan. Apparently my old Master Dooku has gotten it into his head that I have failed him yet _again_ , with my apparent lack of commitment to training Padawans.”

“You haven’t had a Padawan for a few years, so why Dooku’s sudden interest?”

“Because Master Dooku has recently taken a new Padawan of his own.”

“ _Really?_ I thought he had given all that up.”

“I did, too. And he had. Until he found some youngling who is utterly perfect, to hear my old Master talk about him.” Qui-Gon snorted, “Well, perfect for _Dooku,_ at any rate. In other words, everything I am _not_.” Qui-Gon looked away from his friend’s eyes for a moment. It was a sensitive subject, but before Tark could show empathy, Qui-Gon went on, now more briskly, “Dooku was in such a hurry to choose this boy, that he took this new Padawan with him to deal with the riots on Kubai. But in any case, now that he has given up his retirement, it seems he will not rest until I do _my_ part, too. Somehow he must have convinced Yoda that I ought to take another Padawan, and now Master Yoda has been doing his best to twist my arm about it.”

“You must be exaggerating.”

“Not by much. Yoda had me meet two younglings, one…well, the less said about _that_ one, the better,” Qui-Gon grimaced. But then his face softened, and he added, “But the _other_ …”

At Qui-Gon’s expression, Tark put in, smiling, “This suddenly promises to become more interesting.”

“Yoda had me meet this young girl who is quite something,” Qui-Gon added, softly. “I was against training another Padawan, but now I find myself somehow less against it, after having met her.” He looked up and smiled, ruefully, at Tark, “And now that I am going on this long and boring mission, I have now, _coincidentally,_ been assigned to bring along with me that very same girl for ‘training purposes.’ It is obvious what Yoda intends. He thinks if I am with her long enough, I will take her as a Padawan.”

“You might as well accept the inevitable,” laughed Tark, “when was the last time Master Yoda didn’t get his way—two hundred years ago? And against far better opponents than you, my friend.”

“There could be worse things,” admitted Qui-Gon, after a moment. “But I am surprised that this new interest of Yoda’s extends to _you._ Who are they sending with you?”

“I have no idea,” Tark shrugged, indifferently, “Master Za’kalles didn’t say. I have been away for so long I don’t know any of the younglings. I am not looking for a Padawan, but I can’t say I am against it, either. Perhaps Yoda wants to send someone with me only to make his plans with you less painfully obvious.”

“Yes,” agreed Qui-Gon, finally, “that is _probably_ it. Although this new interest of Yoda’s seems strange to me. I am not conceited enough to think whether I take a Padawan or not is of much concern to the Council.”

“Who understands the ways of Masters? Master Dooku probably put him up to it, and you know how involved with you _he_ can be.”

“ _Too_ involved.” Qui-Gon said, morosely. At that moment, his drink was suddenly at risk, for his arm was jostled by a drunk patron who had come up beside him.

“ _Say,”_ the heavyset human male said, leaning in so closely that Qui-Gon had the benefit secondhand of his beverage, “ _say,_ aren’t you…aren’t you…Qui- _Goon_? Qui- _Goon_ Ginn?”

“Qui-Gon Jinn,” put in Tark, helpfully, with a smirk for Qui-Gon.

“Qui-Gon! Yes, that’s it, _Qui-Gon Jinn_. My friends over there,” here the cantina patron gestured vaguely at a bunch of other drunk patrons, who were watching avidly their exchange, “had a _bet_ going whether you were the Jedi fellow plastered all over the HoloNet.”

“Qui- _Goon_ has his own HoloNet channel,” Tark offered, under his breath, so only Qui-Gon could hear; he studiously ignored Qui-Gon’s retaliatory glare.

“And I said, of _course_ he is that Jedi that was on that HoloNet thing, sure as my name is Bakkus Oenous. They didn’t think that it was you, said you had been a quite a bit better looking on the HoloNet, mind, but I recognized you, sure as anything!” the drunk patron concluded, with an air of satisfaction. “Qui-Goon Ginn.”

“Qui-Gon Jinn,” corrected Qui-Gon, tiredly.

“Yes, yes, that is what I said,” Bakkus waved his hand, irritably, “Qui-Gon Jinn. So it _is_ you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” replied Qui-Gon.

Bakkus blinked his bloodshot eyes, apparently too intoxicated to get sarcasm. He then broke into a tremendous grin, and slapped Qui-Gon on the shoulder with such force that once again Qui-Gon almost spilled his drink.

“Good job!” Bakkus exclaimed, “You show those stuffy Senate bastards a thing or two!” Then, turning to his friends, he shouted out, “It _is_ him, so you all owe me fifty credits, pay up!” This announcement led to groans from his friends and curious stares at Qui-Gon from the other patrons.

"You are quite a man, Qui-Goon!” exclaimed Bakkus again. He made to slap Qui-Gon on the arm, but Qui-Gon quickly extended his hand in a handshake, the other hand protectively on his drink.

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said, letting Bakkus pump his hand before stumbling off.

“Your _fan_ s.” Tark teased, indicating the patrons.

“Drop it.”

“ _Qui-Goon.”_

Qui-Gon gave his friend a dirty look, but then burst out laughing. “Perhaps I _am_ better off leaving Coruscant.”

“I am sure the _Council_ thinks so.”

Qui-Gon nodded. “Hence the hasty departure. We leave the day after tomorrow.”

“Za’kalles told me. We won’t have much time to meet with Prince Satra prior to our departure.”

“True. And I was hoping to give Atana some briefing before we leave. Do you know when you will be meeting the youngling who is coming with you?”

“I was told the youngling would be sent to meet me in my quarters at some point prior to departure. I don’t have any more details than that.”

“Perhaps if the Council sends your youngling around early, you both can meet with Atana and I after our meeting with Prince Satra? I sent word to her that I would like to meet her in the sparring rooms for a briefing, and perhaps a few lightsaber pointers. Not that she needs it.”

“I would like to meet her.”

“You will truly like her. I can hardly wait for you to meet her, for she is an amazing youngling, compassionate, perceptive, and full of fire. As well as extremely talented.”

“She sounds a little like you,” Tark said, warmly. He then added, with a sly smile, “But didn’t you just say that you were meeting her in the _sparring_ rooms?”

Qui-Gon looked at his friend warily. “Yes. But you are _not_ suggesting—“

“I _am,”_ insisted Tark, teasingly poking Qui-Gon, “ _This_ time you are going down!”

“Only if _you_ cheat.”

“ _You_ would know about that.”

Qui-Gon blew out his breath, pretending exasperation, “How many times _must_ I tell you, that when I won that bout on Elas, that that was _not_ cheating?”

“I was drunk.”

“I had more to drink than you.”

“Humans have a better alcohol tolerance than Mirimidonians. And I _slipped_ , too. I demand a rematch.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Qui-Gon said, his face stern, but there was a gleam in his eye. “A rematch, it is. Not that it will do _you_ any good.”

“We will see.”

They both laughed for a moment, before Qui-Gon clapped his friend on the shoulder, “I have missed you, my friend.”

“And I you,” Tark replied, smiling.

“Another drink?” asked Qui-Gon, gesturing towards the bartender.

“Prince Satra?” inquired Za’kalles, leading Qui-Gon and Tark into her office. “These are the two Jedi I told you about. Qui-Gon Jinn, Tarquinus Caesi, may I present Prince Satra of Eimi.”

The tall and elegant Auran stood up, bowing to the two Jedi. Like most of his humanoid race, to human eyes he was good-looking, his pale golden skin having a metallic sheen, his features, although unusual, were strange in an attractive way. His violet eyes—sheer violet, seemingly without irises or pupils—were very large, and tip-tilted, and under heavy lids, his nose long and very thin, broad at the base and sharply pointed at the tip. His silvery white hair was to his shoulders, bound back from his face with a metallic fillet, the only emblem of his status.

“I am honored,” the Auran prince said, in fluent but oddly accented Basic, inclining his head to both Jedi, “I have heard much about you, Master Qui-Gon, I have seen many of your exploits on the HoloNet. Your latest one on Kakuno was most impressive.”

At his last sentence, Za’kalles made a small sound of irritation, despite herself, and for his part, Qui-Gon blinked in surprise. He gave the Auran a closer look, but there was no hidden sarcasm in the Prince’s statement, he was being blandly complementary.

“Thank you, Prince Satra,” replied Qui-Gon, being careful not to look at Za’kalles.

“Yes,” the Prince went on, oblivious to Za’kalles displeasure, “after seeing that…I _had_ hoped the Council would send one such as you with me…imagine my surprise and pleasure that you were chosen! And your companion, Master Kaesigh…”

“Caesi,” Tark volunteered, good-naturedly, “or Tarquinus, as you like.”

“Thank you,” the Prince went on, graciously, “Master _Tarquinus,_ I have heard he is most excellent, and that he is quite a good friend of yours…you are a Mirimodian, are you not?”

“Yes,” nodded Tark.

“It would be most interesting to hear about your race…and I am sure we will have time on this trip,” the Prince blinked, looking back and forth between the two Jedi, his expression very pleased.

“During our mission,” Qui-Gon prompted.

“Yes, yes, the mission! Certainly, certainly we should sit down and discuss it, please be seated,” the Prince indicated the seats in Za’kalles office which were across from his own, offering them to the two Jedi as if they were seats in his own palace.

 _He is certainly a Prince,_ thought Qui-Gon, trying not to smile, as he sat down on one of the chairs, as Tark and the Prince also seated themselves.

“Master Za’kalles,” the Prince said, airily, waving a gracious hand, “that will be all. And thank you so very much!”

At this point both Tark and Qui-Gon studiously refused to look at Master Za’kalles, as they were afraid to smile at how the Prince graciously but offhandedly dismissed the Head of the Jedi Council from her own office, as if she was his personal majordomo.

Za’kalles, to her credit, merely bowed her head. “You are most welcome, Prince Satra,” she replied, coolly but correctly, before striding to the door.

As she left, the Prince again clapped his hands together, enthusiastically looking between the two Jedi. “I cannot say how appreciative I truly am. After all the… _unfortunate_ events which happened before my poor deluded brother, Konos… _passed on_ …I cannot possibly express how important it is that all goes well between the Aurans, and the Ix. Yes, yes, I am very appreciative!”

“I have brought schematics of all the meeting places, and all the places we will be staying on Eimi. I thought it would be helpful if you were to have them downloaded to your datapads in advance so you would be better able to plan security.”

“We will be happy to, Prince Satra, but I do have one question,” Qui-Gon paused, a moment, thinking how best to phrase the next question delicately, “Are you fearing violence directly against your person?”

The Prince waved another dismissive hand. His expression, although Aurans were difficult to read, suggested something of mild distaste. “Of course there will always be…as you say, _extremists_ , on _both_ sides. Who is to say what may occur to one of them? One must always be careful, should we not?”

Qui-Gon nodded, ‘So you do not fear anyone in particular, then?”

The Auran prince blinked his large violet eyes. “Oh no, no one in particular, Master Qui-Gon. Yes, yes, there have been troubles between the Ix and the Aurans, very bad, but I am not _hated._ Not like my poor deluded brother, Prince Konos. Now if it were he…but never mind that. I am quite grateful for your concern!”

“Master Qui-Gon and I will download all your information and plan a course of security for you, Prince Satra,” said Tark, reaching for the datapad the Prince now proffered. “If we have any questions, we will contact your underlings for clarification.”

The Prince bobbed his head again, “Thank you Master Tarquinus! I feel much better now that I am being cared for by the Jedi. And you will enjoy Eimi. I have not been there for many years now, but you will think my homeworld beautiful, I think. We are one of the less traveled routes so we do not have many visitors, but we are quite _friendly_. We were the first Midrim planet to ally ourselves with the Republic! Much interesting history!”

“We look forward to learning much about your planet, Prince Satra,” nodded Qui-Gon, courteously. Tark had downloaded the Prince’s information on to his datapad, scrolling down his own datapad to assure all the information was there.

“It is very detailed,” Tark exclaimed, somewhat surprised.

“Aurans pride ourselves on our efficiency,” Prince Satra said.

“If that will be all, Prince Satra, may we be dismissed? We have much to do, before we depart tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes, certainly you may go. But I look forward to seeing you both tomorrow!” the Prince exclaimed, gaily. “At dawn, on landing bay 11-3, let us meet. My ship _Echtbana,_ you will see. My replacement, Senator Yolyamanitzin, will be arriving, and we will greet him. Please do not forget!”

“We are looking forward to it,” remarked Qui-Gon, courteously. He rose from his seat and bowed to Prince Satra; Tark, seeing something in his expression, hastily bowed to the Prince and followed Qui-Gon out into the hallway.

“Good bye!” called out the Prince, cheerfully, as the door slid close behind them.

“What is it?” Tark asked quietly.

“I…don’t know,” said Qui-Gon, slowly, biting his lip. “I can’t help but feel that there is something he is not telling us.”

“Maybe it is just his strange affect. He seems difficult to read, although maybe that is just the mannerisms of his race. The Aurans have always been something of a reserved people, from what I understand.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon conceded, “However, does he really believe that the hatred that the Ix felt for his brother does not extend to him?”

“His brother is dead.”

“But hardly forgotten. After all the atrocities done by Prince Konos, I cannot imagine that they are particularly warm towards Prince Satra.”

“He wasn’t involved. And he was elected Senator by an Eimean majority.”

“Of an electorial body still controlled by the Aurans. And, anyway, he is being less than candid in one respect,” added Qui-Gon, “when he mentioned how Eimi was the first planet in the Midrim to join the Republic, he conveniently forgets to mention that it was the _Aurans_ who joined the Republic, as the Ix had no say. Now that it has been discovered that they are sentient, it is possible that they do _not_ wish to be part of the Republic.”

“Are you suggesting that they wish to succeed from the Republic?”

Qui-Gon shrugged, “Under Republic rule, they have been slaves.”

“The Republic did not know that they were anything more than mindless beasts of burden.”

“An academic point to a slave.”

“That is rebellious talk,” said Tark, with a trace of surprise.

Qui-Gon shrugged, “That is how they feel, I imagine.”

“Which proves my point. As it stands, Prince Satra is their Senator. It is in his best interest to keep the Ix in the Republic, and perhaps he is a little nervous about that. A political issue, nothing more.”

“That _could_ be it,” Qui-Gon conceded, doubtfully.

“And you know that if the Jedi Council thought it was anything more than a purely political mission, there is no way they would send two untrained younglings along with us. That would be deliberately putting them in harm’s way.”

“True,” agreed Qui-Gon finally. “But speaking of younglings, have you met your new young companion?”

“Not as of yet. But they should be sending him or her along tomorrow morning, at the very latest, if not before.”

“Do you have a name? Perhaps Atana knows him or her.”

“They didn’t say.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. But you should still come along to meet Atana. I sent word to her to meet me in the sparring rooms.”

“But not before we have our rematch,” corrected Tark, smiling.

“You mean, before I beat you.”

“We shall see, my friend. I have had a lot of practice in the past two years.”

“Against _whom_? _Nyyxian icebeasts_?”

“Oh, you laugh _now_. But you won’t be laughing like that soon, I promise!” threatened Tark, ominously.

“No, I won’t,” agreed Qui-Gon.

At Tark’s look of surprise, Qui-Gon added, “I won’t be laughing like _this_. I will be laughing _harder.”_

The two friends, arm in arm, laughed as they walked down the hall together, the strange Prince temporarily forgotten.

Qui-Gon leapt gracefully into the air, his long body surprising lithe as he somersaulted overhead, and then landed on his feet.

“ _Ataru Masters!”_ Tark swore, as if it were a curse, as he lunged again.

His attack was met by a parry, and Qui-Gon rapidly returned the attack.

Tark met this attack with refined handwork, parrying Qui-Gon’s attack and returning it in the same line.

Now it was Qui-Gon’s turn to swear. “I _hate_ Makashi!” he exclaimed, laughing., as he leapt up again, attempting an overhead attack.

Tark quickly ducked, and tumbled forward on the floor, rolling beneath Qui-Gon to leap up again, lunging for Qui-Gon’s legs.

Qui-Gon just avoided the attack, and landed, slightly less gracefully.

“That looked suspiciously like Ataru to me!” accused Qui-Gon.

“ _Never!_ ” shouted Tark, in mock disgust. He then assumed a disdainful expression, looking down his long nose, and began a series of overly elegant attacks, his handwork so refined and precious that it was ridiculous.

“I told you I hate Makashi!” shouted Qui-Gon, but he began to laugh hysterically.

“How else am I supposed to score on you if I don’t distract you?” countered Tark, who was laughing as well.

Tark had a point, for Qui-Gon was laughing so hard at Tark’s expression and affected handwork that it was hard for him to parry and attack, but he just managed.

There was a chime at the door of the private practice room.

“That must be Atana,” stated Qui-Gon, shutting off his saber. “She is remarkably punctual.”

“And I was just about to win this time, too,” Tark said, mournfully.

“ _Never!_ ” echoed Qui-Gon in the same disgusted tone. “I suppose I need to get the door,” Qui-Gon added, striding over to the door, which opened as he approached.

Standing there, in the doorway, stood Atana, who quickly bowed to both Masters.

“Master Qui-Gon, I hope I am not interrupting,” she apologized.

“No, you are just on time,” replied Qui-Gon, pleasantly. “And you may have just done me a favor. Tark here was possibly getting the better of me.”

“ _Possibly?_ ” Tark interjected, raising an eyebrow.

Qui-Gon went on, ignoring him, “Atana, this is Tarquinus Caesi, an old friend of mine.”

“Master Tarquinus,” Atana bowed her head.

“He will be going along with us to Eimi. Him, along with another student, we don’t know who as of yet. But we will have plenty of time to get to know one another on this mission, I think.” But after a moment, noticing something about Atana’s expression, he asked, “Is anything wrong?”

“No, Master Qui-Gon,” she added, a little too quickly.

“Out with it,” Qui-Gon insisted, smiling.

“Should I leave?” Tarquinus asked, making to pick up his saber.

“No, Master Tarquinus, please do not leave,” Atana said, bowing to him again. I only thought that perhaps Master Qui-Gon would be—displeased.”

“Displeased? About what?” Qui-Gon asked, frowning slightly in puzzlement.

“When I was told I was to accompany you to Eimi, they told me that it was not your choice, but that you had been told to do so by the Council. I thought maybe you minded having to have me come along.”

Qui-Gon smiled, “I appreciate you asking me, but no, I do not mind. I enjoy teaching younglings. And of what I have seen of you so far, I think that you are highly talented.”

“Thank you, Master Qui-Gon,” she said, smiling back.

“And this mission will be a good opportunity for teaching. It will not be a dangerous one, but purely political. I only hope that you will learn something from me.”

“I am sure I will, Master Qui-Gon,’ she said, seriously, looking up at him, her eyes shining.

“And actually, now that I have an opportunity, I was hoping to give you some pointers on lightsaber combat. Not that you will need much, from what I have seen.”

“I would be honored,” she said, in utter seriousness.

“Why don’t you have Master Qui-Gon teach you some of the Makashi form?” Tark put in, suppressing a mischievous grin. “He is a Makashi Master, did you know that?”

Atana turned to Qui-Gon, astonished. “I had no idea, Master Qui-Gon. I thought you were an Ataru Master.”

“He’s actually _both_. Stop being so modest, Qui!” exclaimed Tark, this time not hiding his grin so well, but Atana did not notice.

 _I will get Tark for this,_ Qui-Gon thought, and then put in, embarrassed, “Actually I _am_ a Makashi Master—along with Ataru. My own Master, Dooku, insisted.”

“I would be more than happy to learn anything _you_ would teach me, Master Qui-Gon,” she said, “and Makashi is…” she hesitated, then added, “ _beautiful_.”

“It _is_ elegant,” agreed Qui-Gon, “And it gives the practitioner a head for strategy. It is never a bad thing to know. But have you had any thoughts as to what your chosen form will be?”

“ _Ataru_ ,” she said, with such emphasis that both Tark and Qui-Gon had to laugh.

“She sounds like someone I know- _ow_ …”warbled Tark, to no one in particular.

“An excellent choice,” said Qui-Gon, pleased. “So let us begin with a discussion of Ataru’s basic forms and philosophy.”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Let us begin.”

“I will catch up with you later, Qui,” said Tark, picking up his saber, and walking towards the door. All he received from Qui-Gon was an absentminded nod, and Atana seemed not to notice at all, for now their concentration was only on each other, their two dark heads bent towards each other.

 _Master Yoda, I think, may just get his way. Again,_ Tark thought, smiling, whistling a little as he exited the door.

There was a chime at the door.

“Please come in,” Tark sang out, not looking up as he attempted to stuff another item into his bag. That morning he had lost track of time, and he still needed to pack up the remainder of his gear.

“You would think since I just returned, there wouldn’t be so much to pack,” Tark muttered, grumpily to himself.

The door slid open.

“Master Tarquinus?”

Tark looked up to see a young blonde boy standing before him, dressed in traveling attire, a pack of gear on his back. Tark smiled.

“You must be the youngling the Council is sending with me. Please come in, and sit down. What’s your name?”

The boy hesitated, but only for a moment.

“Ben,” he said.

“Nice ship,” Tarquinus whistled, appreciatively. The silver ship shone in the light of the hangar bay, a series of graceful curves to the eyes.

“Eimi is a rich planet. All their ships are ‘nice.’ And the ship of their prince, the nicest of all,” commented Qui-Gon.

“Master Qui-Gon! Master Tarquinus! Please join us!” exclaimed Prince Satra, from the landing. He was standing surrounded by several of his entourage, dressed in clothing so richly embroidered it dazzled the eyes. Next to him, in almost perfect counterpoint with her severely plain dress, stood Za’kalles.

Qui-Gon and Tark approached the Prince and the Jedi Master, each bowing in turn.

“My replacement, Senator Yolyamanitzin, is exiting the ship,” explained the Prince, unnecessarily, “it may take some time, considering his body habitus. But _ahhh!_ There he comes!”

From the opening of the ship came a large platform, which moved lightly above the ground, its anti-gravity engines making a soft whirr. Standing on the platform stood a tall Auran, next to him was a large amount of coiled brown-grey rope.

“I thought Senator Yoly-“Tark swallowed the rest of the name, “was an _Ix_.”

“He _is_ ,” Qui-Gon breathed in return.

In a moment, it became clear to Tark what Qui-Gon meant, for the coiled rope seemed to shiver, moving on its own. It was not the Auran on the platform who was the new Senator, but the “rope.” On closer inspection, it was not rope, but the dull sheen of a fleshy body. And unlike rope, it did not seem to have a single cord, but rather branched off into many long tendrils, without a single core, so it was almost disconcerting as one could not determine what, if anything was the part of the body was the center to which attention should be directed.

Attached almost randomly to the sides of the creature, were fleshy stalks which waved in pulsing motions, attached to each stalk was glittering crystals of red and yellow and violet, it took another moment to realize that such crystals were the creatures visual apparatus.

There was a hum coming from the creature, of several pitches at once, in a vibrato harmony, over it, came the words of the Auran, who spoke in the same strangely accented Basic as the Prince, apparently translating.

“The Aurans also speak that… _language?”_ Tark put in, dubiously, at the sound of the strange hum coming from the Ix.

“The Auran on the platform is Force sensitive,” said Qui-Gon, “He does not really comprehend what the Senator is saying…he’s _sensing_ it.”

“Exactly!” the Prince said, apparently delighted at Qui-Gon’s quick understanding, “It was only after the Force sensitive reached their thoughts we understood they could think at all. We Aurans never understood their humming….we thought is as mindless as the… _roars of the Blurrg_!”

Qui-Gon noted that the Prince, with his charming smile, was blissfully unaware of how offensive he was being, particularly comparing the Ix to the notably small-brained Blurrg of Ryloth. He sighed inwardly, at the thought of this long and boring political mission, with an apparently clueless Prince, and focused instead on the Auran on the platform, who was continuing to translate for the new Ix senator.

“….I come to speak for my people, yes, even the Aurans, if they will come in amenity and not in hate and in domination as is often their way.” Qui-Gon looked to the Prince, but his face was unchanged, still with a blandly pleasant expression, as if what the Ix Senator was saying had nothing to do with his own people. Qui-Gon could not tell if the Prince concealed his emotions well or if he was not even listening.

“I will speak with one voice, both Auran and Ix, and hope to continue this new and precious peace,” concluded the Auran, finishing his translation for the Ix Senator.

The Senate representatives in the landing dock, who had been awaiting the arrival of the new Senator, applauded at the conclusion, and approached the strange newcomer, and began their formal greetings.

Qui-Gon noted that the Prince did not make a formal approach, although the politely applauded, before turning away, throwing over his shoulder, “Now that this is done, of course, we must be on our way. The people of Eimi are quite eager to see us, yes, very much so!”

Qui-Gon wondered if the Prince meant _all_ the people of Eimi, Aurans and Ix, but he did not think so. He could not dwell on this, as Za’kalles made it clear she wished to say something to him. Qui-Gon was grateful the closeness to the crowd did not allow enough privacy for yet another lecture.

Za’kalles finally managed, “You know your mission.” She somehow managed to make that neutral statement stern, her beautiful blue eyes boring into him, but Qui-Gon, not meeting her eyes, merely nodded, lest he laugh.

“May the Force be with you,” Za’kalles then added, close to a bark, before nodding her head and turning away as a cloud of dark Jedi dress, striding away as if she felt she was close to saying something more.

“To you as well, Master,” Qui-Gon managed, to her departing back.

“Well, at least she couldn’t say more than that,” Tark said.

“She didn’t need to _say_ anything,” Qui-Gon said, “good thing the younglings weren’t around.”

“Yes, where _is_ Atana?” Tark asked.

“She is already aboard with our gear. Say, did you ever meet up with your youngling?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, they sent him along this morning. He should be here, shortly. I told him to get something to eat before he came along.”

“What’s he like?”

“Hard to say. He is very shy. I couldn’t get more than two words from him.”

“Master Qui-Gon! Master Tarquinus!” called out Prince Satra, from the opening of the ship. Yes, yes, come along! We must—”

Qui-Gon suddenly interrupted, exclaiming, “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Tarquinus looked over to where Qui-Gon was looking. The young blonde boy was now entering the cargo bay, his gear strapped on his back.

“Oh, there he is now. _Ben!_ ” Tarquinus indicated to the boy with a gesture to come to where he and Qui-Gon were standing.

“I can’t believe this!” Qui-Gon exclaimed.

“Believe _what_?” Tarquinus asked, frowning.

“ _That_ boy! That’s the boy who—“ Qui-Gon abruptly shut his mouth as the boy approached.

“Master Qui-Gon. Master Tarquinus,” Ben said simply, bowing to them both, “I hope you have not been waiting.”

“Not at all,” Tarquinus said, warmly, “Atana is already aboard, you may want to go and stash the gear.”

“Certainly,” Ben said, bowing again, before heading up the ramp to the ship. Did Qui-Gon imagine it, or did the boy give him a disapproving look?

When the boy disappeared into the ship, Tarquinus turned to his friend.

“Do you want to tell me what _this_ is all about?”

“It is just that _boy_ ,” admitted Qui-Gon, with a touch of embarrassment. “For some reason, I find him extremely…. _irritating._ ”

“You know him?”

“Not exactly. I went with Yoda to observe the younglings, and he had some comments to make about a theoretical mission, about which I did not agree.”

“Let me guess. Master Tikkon and one of his ‘theoretical’ missions. Or shall we say, a theoretical mission of _yours.”_

“He doesn’t do that often, does he?” Qui-Gon asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, it isn’t a one time thing,” Tark said, grinning.

“I don’t want to know!”

“So let me guess, this boy had a lot to say about you ‘handled’ this mission. Which one _was_ it, by the way?”

Qui-Gon grimaced. “ _Ouisa_.”

“Well, you certainly gave him a _lot_ to criticize. Last time _I_ checked, smuggling was illegal in the Republic,” Tark pretending sternness and trying not to smile, “Not to mention, your friendship with, what _was_ her name again?…”

“ _Forget it_ ,” said Qui-Gon. “Anyway, the boy was extremely intelligent, I give him that, but he basically said I was a _Sith!”_

At Tark’s abrupt burst of laughter, Qui-Gon gave him a dirty look, “I am not kidding. And then, afterwards, Yoda had me watch the younglings in their semester lightsaber tournament. He was brilliant, a born strategist. He actually won over Atana, and she is very talented.”

“So what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. Except I promised Yoda I would talk with the winner, and _he_ was the winner.”

“And it didn’t go well?”

“No.”

“He was rude?”

“No. Just very… _arrogant_.”

“Let me guess. He criticized Ataru, or worse, praised Makashi?” Watching Qui-Gon’s expression, Tark exclaimed, laughing “He did _both_? No wonder why he got under your skin.”

“It was more than that. He was extremely gifted, but cold and arrogant. I haven’t found someone who irritated me like that in a very long while.”

Tark threw back his head and laughed.

“It’s not funny!”

“Oh, but my friend, it _is_ ,” Tark said, trying to compose himself “It’s just that, I haven’t heard you talk that way about someone since you used to grouse to me about _your_ old Master, Dooku.”

“You are right. But I am not going with Master Dooku to Eimi!”

Tark patted his friend on the shoulder, “It is really not so bad. I am the one supposed to train him, not you. You can spend your time with Atana.”

“True. But I don’t wish him on _you,_ either.”

Tark smiled at the jest, but shook his head. “Is this my friend Qui-Gon? Aren’t you the one that always told me that I must find compassion for others, and see their deepest motives? You have done it for others much worse than a _boy_.”

“You are right,” Qui-Gon admitted, thoughtfully. “Why _should_ it be any different with him? But perhaps, my friend, by your jest you have touched the deepest heart of the matter. Something about that boy reminds me of my old Master. And the relationship between Dooku and I has always been…”Qui-Gon paused, looking for the right word.

“ _Troubled.”_ Tark finished for him.

Qui-Gon nodded, “And I cannot say that it does not pain me. But this last time between us, when he defended me to the Council, I had a sense that he had forgiven me for what he has always seen as my failures. At least, it is a beginning.”

“If _your_ old Master is coming around, then anything is possible. Perhaps there is hope for you and this boy getting along.”

“I would not go that far,” Qui-Gon countered, laughing a little. “But I will remember that this boy is not Dooku.” Qui-Gon smiled at Tark. “I am sorry. I have put on this boy my own feelings. You do know, my friend, that you are very wise, do you know that?”

Tark’s gold eyes were glittering with mirth, “Yes. I _do_ know. I might just manage to keep you out of trouble. Despite all your best efforts.”

The two younglings had been efficient; for all the gear had been stowed and the two younglings were already strapped into their seats.

Prince Satra called out to the two Jedi Masters. “Master Tarquinus! Master Qui-Gon! Your students are most entertaining! Atana here is most amusing, we have been laughing so very much at her jests. And the boy… _Ben_ , most intelligent! He understood much of the mechanics of our ship without instruction. They are exceptional students! Exceptional!”

“The Jedi council chose well,” remarked Tark, by way of answer, while Qui-Gon only nodded.

Tark turned to the boy, who was sitting on the seat behind him, staring out the window. He was still so short that his legs did not quite reach the floor.

“You know about ships, do you, Ben?” he asked.

“A little,” the boy said, not making eye contact, then immediately fell silent again.

“A little!” exclaimed Atana, indignantly, “He is _too_ modest. He just explained to me about the mechanical aspects of this model, and possible variations.”

“You will have to explain it to me sometime, Ben,” Tark said, smiling encouragingly.

“Yes. If you would like,” Ben said, shrugging.

 _Tark is wasting his time,_ Qui-Gon thought, in exasperation. If Tark was exasperated too, he did not show it, continuing to smile as he turned away.

“In fact,” chimed in Prince Satra, “I think, we should… _entertain_ the children, no? Why not have our very _charming_ young Atana do the communications for our ship, and Ben take the controls of our ship? Just until we reach the hyperspace point?” Before Tark or Qui-Gon could protest, Prince Satra threw up a dismissing hand, “Do not worry, Master Jedi. My crew will stand by, at all times.” He looked over at the boy, “Unless you do not want to, perhaps? Or you feel you cannot?”

“I can,” the boy said, calmly. It was not a boast but a simple statement of fact.

“Then you shall be my official communications officer and pilot,” said Prince Satra, delighted, giving an almost theatrical wink to Qui-Gon and Tark. He gestured to the two Aurans who sat to the front of the ship, who immediately vacated their seats, with charming bows, to the two younglings.

Atana reached for her controls excitedly, but as Ben sat down he simply frowned, looking over the controls in front of him.

“Any problem? My pilot can explain it to you…I will translate.”

“No, thank you, Prince Satra. On studying the schematics of the ship, it is very like the J-327, with only minor variations, including the weaponry.”

“ _Defensive_ , of course” Prince Satra said, to no one in particular.

“Hold on a moment,” Qui-Gon exclaimed, to Tark, “how did he have time to read the schematics of the ship?”

“He’s very conscientious,” said Tark, “He insisted on studying the schematics of the Auran vessels this morning, for contingencies sake. I had to make him eat breakfast.”

“Conscientious,” agreed Qui-Gon, although it seemed faintly strange that a young boy would be that rigid about contingencies.

“Initiating,” Ben said, half to himself. He reached for one of the many switches on the panel, and throwing it, caused the rest of the panel to glimmer with lights.

Prince Satra clapped his hands excitedly, “Brilliant boy!”

“He threw a switch,” grumbled Qui-Gon, only to Tark.

Atana spoke into the communicator. “Control, this is the ship _Ectbana_. Requesting permission to depart.”

The communicator crackled, “Permission granted, _Ectbana_. Safe journey.”

“This is obviously the levitator, and this is for the pitch and yaw,” the boy murmured, only to himself. He reached for a few of the controls, and the ship began to rise.

The Auran pilot behind Ben seemed ready to grab the controls at a moments notice, but noticeably relaxed when he saw the confident and knowledgeable way the boy handled the controls.

The boy, with delicate hands, guided the ship out of the cargo bay and out into the open sky.

“Firing thrusters,” the boy stated, pulling the lever.

As the ship rose rapidly into space, Qui-Gon noticed, with more than a little admiration, that the boy was an excellent pilot, better than many adults, although it did not altogether surprise him, for piloting required a concentration and a single-mindedness the boy definitely had.

 _And cold-bloodedness…_ Qui-Gon thought.

“If I could have the coordinates, I can attempt to program the hyperdrive,” remarked Obi-Wan, to no one in particular.

“You can program hyperdrives?” Atana asked, in obvious admiration.

“Not really,” the boy said, shrugging, “but I assume that the program is interpretable. I have used some basic navigating programs.”

“Clever, clever, boy!” clapped Prince Satra, in admiration. “A fine Jedi you will make! But Utulu is getting most anxious to resume his proper duty, so you will excuse him, no?”

“Of course,” Ben said, getting up from the pilots seat with a bow to his head to the pilot.

The pilot, however, stood there and spoke to the boy in rapid Auran, but by his expression his words were complimentary. Then seeing the boy’s frown, he turned to his Prince, bowing several times and gesturing to Ben.

“Utulu wants me to translate. He states that he does not have much to teach you. He wants to know if you want to grow up to be a pilot.”

Ben shook his head solemnly, as if Utulu’s suggestion had been serious. “I don’t like flying. Too many uncontrollable variables.” He then bowed to Utulu and the Prince, before returning to his seat.

 _Good thing he will be a talented Jedi, because then it doesn’t matter that he has no personality,_ thought Qui-Gon irritably, _I will be glad when_ _this mission is over._


End file.
